


An essay on kissing

by MarauderCracker



Category: Glee
Genre: Drunk Kisses, M/M, Sleepy Kisses, all kisses, i love writing kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderCracker/pseuds/MarauderCracker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep scientific study on the ancient practice of making out. Subjects of analysis: S. Smythe and K. Hummel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

First kisses are always a little clumsy. Too hesitant, too needy, too intoxicated. All of those adjectives, and maybe some more. Defiant, challenging, with that edge of anger that has always tinted all of their interactions. Their teeth clash and their glasses clink, but the shiver is not from the spilled drink, it’s from the shock of the contact. 

Most first kisses have a second of open eyes. Sometimes it’s from the person that initiated the kiss, scared that the other won’t react as they wish. Sometimes is from the person on the receiving end, surprised to see that the other has closed their eyes to gather the courage for that kiss. In their case, though, they came together with eyes open, Kurt tilting his head to the right just enough that they wouldn’t bump noses, and stared at each other during what seemed like an eternity ( _but was no more than three short, agitated breaths against the other’s lip, mere seconds, a billion years_ ) before closing the infinitesimal gap between them. And, then, closed their eyes.

Inebriated kisses tend to feel timeless. If asked, they wouldn’t be able to say how much time passed from the moment they clossed their eyes and the moment they opened them, gasping and still too close to each other, the air between them kissing when they weren’t. They can, though, count things other than seconds and minutes. 

Kurt will say that it can’t have been such a long kiss. He still feels the sting of teeth pressing into his lower lip, but will feel it for days and something in his mind will swear that it was just a second ago that he broke that kiss. And he will lick where his lips aches dully and still feel the taste of alcohol and smoke and Sebastian, and think if it wouldn’t be needed a kiss that lasts a hundred years to let that taste so deeply impressed on his skin.

Sebastian, on the other hand, from the beggining will swear that it was the longest kiss. Will count all the little gasps and breathy moans that he got to rip off Kurt’s mouth, and never tell about the ones that he himself let out. But, though he is sure that they were pressed in that corner, on that couch, against each other for what it felt like a hundred and one hours; he could have used a few more seconds, the chance to suck on Kurt’s tongue again and try to lick the taste of liquor out of the cavity under his tongue. 

The next day, both of them wake up hungover and craving for a glass of water, for a wet and breathless kiss, for anything to calm the thirst. 


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a funny thing about fuck buddies. About the way they will say “ _hi_ " with a kiss on the cheek or a friendly hug, but still be looking at the other’s lips. They will never greet each other as any other than friends, or act as any other than friends. Sometimes (as is their case) they aren’t even friends. They only share tight hand shakes and their chats are always bordering in arguments. And, even when they are meeting up with the express purpose of sleeping together, Sebastian will open the apartment door and let Kurt in with a sharp " _hey, do you want coffee?_ ,” and no contact. No kissing.

 

They share a coffee from opposites sides of the kitchen table, Sebastian back to the notes he was re-reading, Kurt more focused on his phone than on how the coffee has exactly three spoons of sugar and isn’t too light or too strong. They share a couple phrases here and there, small talk to fill the silence, until the mugs are empty and Sebastian closes his notebook. 

“ _Do you mind if I spend the night?_ " Kurt asks, still looking at his phone screen though he is speaking to Sebastian.  _"I have classes early tomorrow,_ " he explains, just to make clear that, just like with the rest of their relationship, it’s just out of pure convenience that he wants to stay. He looks up from his phone to find Sebastian standing above him, and locks the screen with a press to the right button. ” _Yeah, no problem. Can we move to the bedroom?_ " Sebastian says, impatience on his voice, and pulls him up by the lapel of his vest.

There’s a funny thing about fuck buddies or, at least, about fuck buddies like them. If there are any like them, that is. There’s something unique about their kisses, about the way they reppel each other when they pretend to be nothing more than acquaintances and the way they attract when they finally give in to the pull. 

These are kisses with closed eyes, stumbling upon furniture and walls in their way to the bedroom, rushed and just as needy, just as breathless as the first. Sobriety makes them hyperaware of things they’d rather forget, makes them want to do more and do faster just so they can stop thinking. 

They kiss until they are senseless with lust, kiss down necks and chests and then go back to the mouth with a kiss that is all smirk and teasing. They might not get along very well the rest of the time, but they have a perfect understanding of the language of touches and pants, of moans and hands that grab at the first thing they can. In each pull of hair and each mark of teeth the anger that always lived between them is slowly being let out. 

The most interesting thing about fuck buddies is how they try so hard to set a firm limit between fucking and making love. They kiss roughly, they kiss fast. But sometimes, just sometimes, they slip into a slow kiss, into the forehead-to-forehead breathing. Eyes closed, always eyes closed, because coming while looking at the other’s eyes would be way too intimate, too sappy.

( _They fall asleep tangled together, for the first time. Fuck buddies deserve an entire study for them alone; they are so strange. Kurt is just stumbling into a dream when he feels a wet kiss pressed to his shoulder, and Sebastian’s hands pull tighter at his waist. But tomorrow, when they wake up, Kurt will shower first and they will have coffee in silence and, when Kurt leaves, say goodbye with a kiss on the cheek and a look to the lips._ )


	3. Chapter 3

Ungiven kisses are, naturally, some of the worst kind that there are. They ache and burn, crawl under one’s skin, turn air heavy and make gravity pull only towards the lips that are denied.

Weird thing is, when they stop kissing they start talking. Now that sex isn’t an incentive, they really don’t have any reasons to not kill each other during meet ups, so their fights start again. And if they are fueled by jealousy now, if Sebastian looks at Kurt’s lips when he says that he should just “go rewatch Titanic with his bitch of a boyfriend, if he’s going to be such a prude all night and complain about how he’s the only sober one”, if he criticizes his clothes while staring at the way the loose shirt shows off his collarbones; if they are maybe more bitter and actually looking to wound now, no one will notice. Except Santana does.

She purposefully drags them into conversations that don’t involve clothes, exes or current boyfriends. She invites Sebastian when she knows Kurt will be home, puts on music she knows they both like, leaves books she has seen the both of them reading over the coffee table. A little notepad in her brain reads the steps of a plan titled “How to make Kurt and Sebastian stop wanting to make out and actually make out.” And everything is planned carefully.

The language of touches extends further than lips, of course. Santana Lopez knows how to read them perfectly, but mixed feelings and uncomfortable circumstances can make most people deaf to the meanings of the skin. She knows that the way Sebastian’s hand always brushes against Kurt’s when they walk past means longing, she knows that the glances that Kurt fixates on Sebastian’s mouth as he sips his coffee is desire. She might not know the backstory, but she sure as hell knows the particular dialect of the bodies that have already shared touches, and kisses, and intimacy. And she could write a eulogy on the words that spring from kisses refused. 


	4. Chapter 4

Kissing is understood by many as an universal language, but studies show that there are so many dialects, so many possible inflections and conjugations of its words and its definitions, that the meanings behind a particular kiss can get lost in conversation.

Kurt has, despite a few slurred and sloppy kisses that spoke in a language that his mind only knows when fed with alcohol; only spoken the kisses of love and care until Sebastian. He was taught that kissing means intimacy in all of its words, and the particular mixture of speaking, fighting and making out that he shares with Sebastian always tasted foreign on his tongue. He needs clearly drawn limits, because kisses out of the limits of the bedroom and their strictly-unattached-conversation might get lost in translation.

Sebastian likes to keep words for outside of the sheets and kisses inside, too, but he’s natural of a completely different language. He talks passion, lust and desire; he can speak of anger and jealousy, he can kiss self-hatred and a desperate need to forget. But, if he’s ever said love into another man’s mouth, the years without speaking it have made him forget the language.

All of Sebastian’s kisses (against doors, in crowded dancefloors, in bathrooms, on couchs) are burning and passionate. Even when they are slow, even when they are tired, even when they chase away the taste of a sweet coctail on Kurt’s tongue against the bar of a nightclub and tell him that he should forget his boyfriend, forget his boyfriend’s kisses, forget the translation. Sebastian’s kisses scream, yes, jealousy and need and lust and self-hatred. But there is something more that goes unheard with the alcohol and the music and the crowd. 

But he kisses Kurt good morning the next day, and that kiss tastes like coffee and sounds like caring. Kurt kisses back until the headache and the guilt set in, and then he feels like his words are being choked down.


End file.
